Monday, Jul. 07, 2003/10:07 pm

empty

Two shutters gape open at opposite ends of this narrow corridor. To my left, a dark burrow of black air, shrill voices that call my name, a solution to bury the fear. Welcoming me with low music and husky overtones. A shelter to lay beneath until i can face getting up again. Then, on the right a space that turns into a multitude of colours, like spotlights changing each minute. Red, pink, powerful green then distant blue. It sends insecurity and worry, unpredictable in surroundings. Candy filled needles and cheerful poster girl smiles. Stuck between two mediums.

For the past two days i've been sleeping alot, i'm still having bad stomach pains. For the most part of yesterday i didn't move out of bed, i felt like i'd been sedated under an anesthetic that kept me drifiting in and out of consciousness, never quite pushing me all the way under.

I run my finger over my ribs, counting each bone, tracing the contures of my skelton.

Then realise i still have weight to lose, fat to erase, pounds to discard. I wish i could melt it away with touch, like ice under hot sunlight.

I'm still yards away from where i want to be. Where i need to push myself to, run an extra lap, till i pass out.

I hurt all over, outside and inside.

Over the weekend it was the end of school trip to paris, Disneyland. I didn't go because i knew i wouldn't be able to cope. Yet another opportunity turned sour.

Tommorrow is the eating disorder assesment. I've been trying to block it out with no success. I'm worried that i am not ready, still not ready. I am doubtful of how much i will say and how honest i will be. Just, unsure of whats expected of me. I have little to offer.

I know this is not normal. Not normal to wake up and think primarily of food, to adjust your shedule around it, to not have one moments peace from the tormenting showreal playing over and over. Old repeats of the same dire programme. Volume on the increase. But what else is there? Where else do i go? How else do i fit? Measure me up for size and send me into a field of equations, i can't figure it out myself.

Holding paper flowers and waiting for the next fairytail. A ruin of empty dreams. Nothing can be made of this mess.